the strength in your fractured heart
by fingertips on my warm skin
Summary: Kim Crawford is as straitlaced as you can possibly be-she does her work, pays her rent, and dutifully visits only the respectable bars. When circumstances force her into a club way out of her league, it's the darkly handsome lead guitarist who saves her, ushers her out, and promptly gets knocked out defending her. When chemistry flares between the two, who will break first?


**Title: the strength in your fractured heart**

**Synopsis: Kim Crawford is as straitlaced as you can possibly be-she does her work, pays her rent, and dutifully visits only the respectable bars. When circumstances force her into a club way out of her league, it's the darkly handsome lead guitarist who saves her, ushers her out, and promptly gets knocked out defending her. Can Kim resist Jack's dark charms? Or will she ever be able to smooth his rough edges?**

**O_o Lil is thinking some dark thoughts here. Some very dark thoughts. And she doesn't know where the hell they came from. But she hopes you enjoy it.**

**Point being, in****_ School of Jack_**** my ever-lovin husband Leo Howard was decked out in full rock star garb, with the vest without a shirt on, head scarf, leather pants, and boots. I was in love with bad boy, bad ass Jack Brewer and decided to share him with you all. I REPLY TO ALL MY REVIEWS. Ask anyone who's reviewed my other stories. :) **

**AND SO IT BEGINS.**

* * *

Anyone who knows Kimberly Crawford can tell you that she's no stranger to a bar.

Problem is, this wasn't the kind of bar she was used to.

The blonde was currently parked outside of one such establishment, but unlike the ones she tended to go to this one was bathed in neon paint and surrounded by people dressed in everything garish, crude, and offensive. They had enough eye make up to keep the Victoria Secrets entire model fleet in business, and enough silver to single handedly catapult Africa out of debt.

Okay…so maybe she was over exaggerating.

But it wasn't looking good for her. All she'd wanted to do was get home from work, pick a bar from her respectable if mundane neighborhood, and attempt to have a decent break from her normal life. What she got was a call from her frequently crazy friend Mika to pick her up at possibly the sketchiest bar she'd ever seen.

"Oh God, Oh God, PLEASE let this be a nightmare!" the blonde whispered to herself, watching the goings on from the safety of her car with horrified eyes. At least Kim was dressed for a bar-low cut v neck shirt, about three silver necklaces, and a mini skirt, a black one that Kim had debated on choosing but was exceptionally glad she'd chosen. Her curly blonde hair was held up in a bun, with tendrils framing her face, and open toed red platform heels to match her red lips. Problem was, to get attract any wanted attention at this damn bar she needed about three times more eyeliner, black dyed hair, black painted nails, and spikes, added to a preferred few piercings.

Kill. Her. NOW.

Cursing all the gods she'd ever heard of and making up a few more, Kim stuffed some money into her bra (because if she brought her purse in there she wouldn't be the one lucky enough to take it out), the blonde stepped gingerly out of her black Camry into the dark street and beeped her car, attaching the keys to a hidden loop in her skirt. Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she squared her shoulders and sashayed towards the bouncer.

_Here goes nothing…_

* * *

Anyone who knows Jack Brewer knows that he's no stranger to the wiles of a woman.

Problem is, this wasn't the kind of woman he was used to.

The brunette had finally finished his gig with_ The Gutter Rats_ (horribly named, he'd have to admit, but he was just a replacement. Thank God that wasn't the name of his actual band) and had lovingly packed his blood red guitar into its case, pressing it and a 100 dollar bill into a trusted security man's arms. His fingers warm from playing his instruments, bared forearms slightly chilled by the air conditioning in the Godforsaken sweaty place, he'd pushed through the throng of people to get to the bar, then ordered his usual-double absinthe, possibly the strongest liquor he'd ever tasted.

Jack gulped down a shot, the familiar white-hot burn of the poison searing its way down his throat while he gazed at the ceiling, and slammed it down on the wooden surface hard enough to crack it. He wasn't worried-these kinds of establishments spent more money replacing mugs and shot glasses almost than it did on alcohol-and just rested in his stool, listening to the music that pulsed its way through the floorboards, the obscenities yelled across the room, and the steady but barely there sound of people literally trying to do the do on the dance floor.

Hair the color of burnished wood shone dimly in the 'alternative' lighting, the thickness brushing his shoulders and held back just barely by a strip of black fabric tied around his head, under his bangs. A black vest adorned his upper body, low enough for hints of a six pack to show under the broadness of her pectorial muscles. A silver ring gleamed on a simple leather cord, and pitch black dress pants hung low on his hips, the whole outfit partnered with almost worn out black and white kicks.

A flash of gold caught his eye, and he squinted and turned his head ever so slightly to the right.

She didn't belong here.

Her hair was too pure, to naturally beautiful to be in this place of artificial light and even more paper-thin people. Her skin too golden tan, too not-pale to rub arms, or any part of her body even, with people who would sell their body for an empty promise. Her soul shone pure, if slightly cracked through the windows of her clear brown eyes, and her drink too light to almost be considered alcohol.

Jack watched her delicate fingers shift her glass around uneasily and allowed himself to sink in the gentle but defined curve of her chest and the inevitable petiteness of her waist.

He made a decision in a darkness of that bar, with harsh light flashing on the hard ridges of his shoulders and the soft curves of her back, with his eyes locked on her every movement while she awkwardly searched for redemption.

She was going to leave this place unharmed. Unharmed, and no worse for the wear. And he was going to find out who she thought she was, stepping into this bar, and he was going to protect her. Protect her from all that she seemed to have stumbled into. And maybe, just maybe, he might even learn her name.


End file.
